


Necessary

by prettysophist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Pre-Relationship, Sharing a Bed, brief discussion of past canonical character deaths
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:47:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26138365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prettysophist/pseuds/prettysophist
Summary: Harry is 90% sure he's only here because his boss hates him. Draco, unfortunately, is completely convinced that his life is in danger, and only Harry can save him.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 16
Kudos: 33
Collections: Magical Vacation Manip/Writing Fest





	Necessary

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Gcgraywriter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gcgraywriter/gifts).



> Art by Gcgraywriter

The moment he saw Griphook's face, Harry knew that he should have called in late and stopped at Luna's cafe for the extra coffee he had so desperately needed. But no...Hermione's voice in his head managed to be the loudest, as usual.

So here he was, punctual and caffeine-deprived. 

Well, at any rate no later than he had been yesterday. 

And Griphook was smiling at him. The two over-sweetened instant coffees he had gulped down at home churn uncomfortably in his belly. Perhaps he should also have grabbed something to eat.

The last time that Griphook had smiled while sending him on an assignment it had taken the Healers at St Mungo's three weeks to bring him out of his coma. Not a coincidence, Harry is sure.

* * *

When Harry sees the cabin, his initial thought is that this won't be such a shitty assignment after all. It's sturdily built, well insulated, and thoroughly stocked with firewood and food. 

Malfoy feels quite differently on the matter. So far, he is speechless with horror, but that blessed state is unlikely to last for long. 

Harry is only here because he has to be. Because Griphook had ordered him to be here, and Griphook is his boss. He's tried to quit three times already this year, and Griphook has fired him twice, and every time Kingsley has forced him to go back and apologise. Kingsley is all about post war reparations, and "rebuilding trust" with the goblins has fallen squarely on Harry's shoulders, despite Ron and Hermione being pretty nearly as responsible as he was for the most recent rift.

So the goblins get to underpay Harry for guarding whatever cursed objects the goblins want protection for or from that week, and Harry gets to turn up late to work whenever he happens to feel like a sleep in. 

This time, the "object" he is expected to guard is an unusually twitchy Draco Malfoy. The goblins hate the Malfoys even more than they hate Harry, but apparently Lucius Malfoy is "good for business," so here they are.

Far out of easy apparition range, in an unspecified very cold country, surrounded by deep snow drifts, in a cabin with _only one bed_. 

Harry should offer to take the sofa, but he won't. He was told to keep Malfoy alive, not keep him happy. Goblins don't consider happiness or politeness to be particularly valuable commodities, which is why he's only been fired twice this year.

Malfoy has been uncharacteristically quiet for several hours now. He had muttered a few token complaints about sheet thread count and firewood quality and the like, but mostly he had been staring into the fire as though the whole situation would go away if he ignored it hard enough.

If Harry didn't know better, he'd say that he was scared, but Harry does know better. Probably just pissed they assigned Harry as his bodyguard. Harry has never considered himself a particularly high thread count either.

The silence is getting a bit unnerving, though.

"Want some marshmallows?" he offers.

Malfoy looks both alarmed and puzzled. Possibly he is concerned they might be a Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes product, or possibly Harry just didn't segue into it very well.

"Yes, thank you, that would be lovely," he says politely. 

He holds the metal skewer at an awkward angle, as far from his body as he can, and not nearly close enough to the flames. 

It is Harry's turn to be horrified.

"No, here, like this." He fixes Malfoy's grip and gives him a couple of other pointers. How to turn the skewer slowly but steadily, to get that ideal shade of golden brown. The distraction seems to be working, at least. Malfoy is still unusually pale, but his eyes are focused and bright.

"These are delicious!" he enthuses, before flushing and looking away. Harry pretends not to notice, searching instead for a safe topic of conversation.

Politics are right out. Mutual acquaintances...risky at best. Asking why someone wanted to kill him, tactless. Which leaves weather and Quidditch and not a whole lot else.

Talk of Quidditch turns to Teddy's new broom, Teddy's Metamorphmagus ability, and Teddy's recent, disastrous fascination with gobstones. They both have their own nightmarish encounters to share. 

Talk of Teddy turns to talk of Andromeda and Narcissa and the friendship they are trying to build as adults. Both of them have known terrible loss, seen and done things they would rather forget about. And they don't have enough family members left to pick and choose from. Draco tells Harry how long Narcissa spent searching for the perfect birthday present for Andromeda, and Harry tells Draco how genuinely Andi treasures it.

Then slowly to friends they've kept and friends they've lost. The unexpected waves of grief that come sometimes, triggered by a scent or a smile or a turn of phrase. The good memories, too. The things that make them smile or laugh unexpectedly. A difficult conversation, but somehow also effortless. Harry finds himself almost enjoying Draco's company. Appreciating his sharp tongue and sharp laugh.

"I'm sorry," they both say. Long overdue, but genuine. They had been children, overwhelmed with impossible burdens and inherited prejudices. Impossible. Terrifying.

By unspoken agreement, they turn back to Quidditch. Matches they've watched recently, poor decisions by referees, and some truly excellent locker room gossip that Ginny has passed to Harry since joining the Holyhead Harpies reserve team. 

Finally Draco cracks his jaw on a yawn, and they both laugh. One bed isn't as awkward as it had been a few hours ago. Or at least, not in a bad way.

They place a single pillow between them, because a pillow wall would be childish, but drawing some kind of line feels...necessary. Draco's sharp edges seem smoother in the cabin's low lighting, his voice more melodious, the firelight glimmering over his pale hair.

Harry is by no means ready to discuss why or how or when this happened, but of a certainty, the pillow is necessary.


End file.
